Chapter 20
Kaneko
Sakurai was relentless, drilling memory techniques—reciting conversations word for word hours after hearing them.
Reading micro-expressions—the twitch of an eye, the tension in a jaw, the false smile that did not reach the eyes.
We also worked on detecting lies through breath patterns and body language.
He told me physical lessons would come, but given my role in the house, learning to throw stars or fight with short blades was far less important than skillful use of my tongue—to whatever end it served.
Each morning brought new scenarios, new challenges, new masks to try on and discard.
I was getting better, frighteningly better.
The lies came so easily. The masks felt natural.
I could slip into a role the way Hana had taught me to slip into refined clothing—smoothly, without thought, as if I had been born into it, as if it had been made only for me.
Mornings after Sakurai left still belonged to Hana.
She seemed oblivious to my other training.
Or perhaps she simply knew better than to acknowledge what she suspected.
We never spoke of it, never even hinted at it.
She taught me a new song on the shamisen, corrected my calligraphy, laughed at my clumsy attempts to arrange flowers with the precision she demonstrated so effortlessly.
The warmth between us remained—that friendship forged in shared captivity.
Our friendship also became my link to the real Kaneko, my guiding star, my truth. As long as Hana smiled and lent me her warmth, I knew the real me still existed. The moment her voice no longer held sway over my heart, I feared I would be lost.
Sometimes I wondered if she saw the changes in me, even in small things, like how I observed her with the same calculating attention I had learned to turn on Sakurai’s fictional customers.
I practiced on her without meaning to, testing my skills, watching how she responded to different approaches, different tones, different versions of myself.
It made me feel sick, but I kept doing it anyway—because that was who I was becoming—someone who could not turn it off.
On one particular morning, Hana arrived but carried no tea, no lesson materials, only herself, and an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Kaneko-san,” she said softly, bowing with respect I didn’t deserve. “The mistress wishes to see you in her office.”
“Mistress Momoko?” My stomach dropped. “Why? Did I—have I done something wrong?”
“No, no.” She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes, something that looked almost like a farewell. “Just . . . come. She is waiting.”
I followed her through the corridors, my mind racing. Had I been discovered? Had someone seen Sakurai entering my chamber each dawn? Had I made a mistake during training, said something wrong, revealed something I should not have?
Or was this meeting about my courtesan training, the reason I had been purchased in the first place?
My palms were sweating by the time we reached Momoko’s office. Hana slid the door open and gestured for me to enter. The room was exactly as I remembered—elegant, restrained, perfect. Momoko sat behind her desk, her painted face serene and her posture impeccable.
There was no woman in black this time. The room was far too bright for her brand of shadows. There was only Momoko, only the mistress who owned me.
“Come in, Kaneko,” she said. “Sit.”
There was no honorific from a master to a slave. I bowed deeply and then crossed to the cushion and kneeled, pressing my hands flat against my thighs to hide their trembling.
Momoko studied me for a moment, her dark eyes forever calculating sums and weighing worth.
“You have done well,” she said finally. “Very well, in fact. Both Hana and Sakurai report that your progress has exceeded their expectations.”
I bowed my head, not trusting my voice.
“Hana tells me you have mastered the tea ceremony to an acceptable standard. Your calligraphy, while not exceptional, is also adequate. You move with grace, speak with refinement, and you have learned the arts of conversation and companionship.” She paused.
“Sakurai tells me you have become most proficient in the art of pleasure, as well. If I didn’t know better, I might think he has come to fancy your company more than his instruction requires. ”
Heat flooded my face. Yoshi and I had lain together once.
I’d lost count of the times Sakurai lay naked beside me.
My initial lessons with Sakurai had involved more intimacy than I’d experienced with any other man.
I’d begun to forget Yoshi’s features, while Sakurai’s body was a map whose lines were now etched into my mind.
“You have been here . . .” She glanced at some paper on her desk. “Almost a year. Some take far more time before they are ready, but you, Kaneko—” She looked up at me. “You have adapted remarkably well. You have learned quickly. You have become what I asked you to become.”
The words should have felt like praise. Instead, they felt like a eulogy for whoever I had been before.
“Therefore,” Momoko continued, straightening her already impeccable posture, “I have decided that your training period has concluded. You are ready to take the next step.”
My heart skipped a beat, then tumbled forward.
“The next step?” My voice came out hoarse.
“Receiving customers.” She said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, as if she were discussing the weather rather than selling my body. “This will be your last day of training. Tomorrow, your maiden voyage will cast off.”
Her lips curled at the quip, the reference to my nautical past. My roiling gut refused to find the humor in her words. The room tilted. I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself.
Tomorrow. One day. One day until I would be given to a stranger. To many strangers.
Again and again. Day after day.
Until everything I had learned, everything I had been trained to do, would be put into practice.
One day until I became truly what this place had made me: a slave to the pleasures of other men.
“I see you are nervous,” Momoko said with all the emotion of a tax collector counting sums. “That is natural. All of our courtesans feel apprehension before their first customer, but I assure you, you are ready. Your Virgin Auction will be awkward, but everything that follows should soothe your nerves.”
“Virgin Auction?” I croaked.
She nodded. “You will see. Think of it as a game, of sorts, a game to maximize my return on your initial investment.”
I gulped back fear and bile and whatever else my gut tried to toss on Momoko’s floor.
She stood, a dismissal.
“Go. Rest. Relax. Tomorrow your work begins.”